


Roommate Wanted: No Escaped Convicts, Pets Okay

by LemonKith



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU - Murderer's Row, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonKith/pseuds/LemonKith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Red vs. Blue AU 'Murderer's Row' by ViolentMedic. (If you haven't read that, this won't make much sense. And there are spoilers for it)<br/>O'Malley is bothering his favourite plaything again and Doc has nowhere to escape this time, just a lot to think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roommate Wanted: No Escaped Convicts, Pets Okay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ViolentMedic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentMedic/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Murderer's Row: Vol.1 - Welcome to the Row](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377563) by [ViolentMedic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentMedic/pseuds/ViolentMedic). 



> This story will require you to have read most of ViolentMedic's story, 'Murderer's Row' to really understand it. I'm posting this now in celebration of it resuming updates again. However, this is based on the version that was posted before on Fanfiction.net. If changes are made when she reposts part 3 then I will probably update this to reflect them.
> 
> This isn't really set at any particular point in the story's canon because I didn't know where the story was going and didn't want to have to worry about that. It's just some Doc/O'Malley smut-torture and reflection set in part 3, after the second timeskip, if O'Malley escaped and went to where Doc lives. I can't defend it; it's an AU of a Red vs. Blue AU, a show which itself is a Halo AU. I just hope ViolentMedic doesn't mind what I've done with her creations.

No, moving without considerable pain was not an option.

Doc sighed and covered his face with his hands. They smelt like him. _‘I smell like him._ ’

The pain that shot through his system any time he tried to move anything from his rib cage down prevented Doc from doing anything but reflecting on how he had gotten here, into this state in his bed. Perhaps it was like dreaming, trying to piece back together the fragments of the last few-

Hours?

Had it just been hours? How did that man manage to stretch hours until they felt like weeks?

The fragments Doc had left felt like episodes from very lucid dreams – even if they were of _him_ , calling them ‘nightmares’ seemed a little mean. Maybe it would be better if he left them like that; maybe they’d wash away easier like the little seeds his alfalfa sprouts left behind at the bottom of the water bowl.

A cupboard door slammed somewhere he couldn’t see – Kitchen? Maybe wardrobe? – and the jerk Doc made to check forced a hissed gasp before he fell back defeated.

Maybe incapacitating him to explore his flat had been part of the plan too.

It was no use; the scenes he did remember, even with the blurs in between, were too vivid to let fall away. His mind was too weak to resist the need to order them, to look for some clues that might give even a tiny glimpse of understanding into his personal plague.

Doc didn’t remember how O’Malley got in, only that, as always, it soon ended up against a wall.

There had been plenty of talking at that part, plenty of the usual anger, twisted coveting and manipulative words on O’Malley’s side. Doc couldn’t even remember how he’d spoken. He’d just been pinned, as usual, probably saying pathetic things that were always more for O’Malley’s sake than his. Playing along; was it his fault then?

If Doc had a tail, like the mouse he seemed to be, O’Malley would just put his foot on it and watch Doc try to run, pulling in vain until he-

_‘Why am I thinking about yet more ways to humiliate myself with him?’_

Still, it’d almost make a nice change from being pinned against a wall.

Doc remembered only one part of that conversation verbatim: _“As beautiful as it is, you don’t need to worry so, DuFresne. Your master’s here to use you for the only thing you’re any good for now...”_ Or something like that. One finger had been twisting the fringe of his hair and there had been a tongue on his ear between the whispers too. Doc was amazed he remembered any words with that.

He had whimpered, and Doc had hoped it would seem like fright. O’Malley had taken it like that at first, but then – _‘Maybe I blushed or something,’_ – then he’d noticed. He had somehow thought to put his hand down and found the mortifying hardness in Doc’s crotch.

_“Why, what’s this?”_

It wasn’t fair! The man who had taken his purpose in life away, stripped out all his dreams of helping people...

_“Trying to hide something from me, my foolish little medic- Sorry, **therapist**?”_

And then for that same man to give him a new ‘purpose’, as a toy, and dreams of torture, unwanted sex and death every night.

_“We’ll need to check. Wouldn’t want you to accidentally injure anyone else, would we?”_

No matter what ideals he clung to, O’Malley had too much power over him now. He’d lost. And it had been a long time ago.

After that, Doc only remembered his trousers falling and tangling up his legs, O’Malley’s perverse chuckle and his boxers-

Doc turned his head and he could see them now, lying in disgrace on the floor, _‘While I lie in disgrace on the bed...’_ They were pink with little kitten faces, pawprints and the word ‘Meow!’ printed on them in a random pattern.

_“Lovely boxers, DuFresne.”_

Doc wore them on days he felt vulnerable and needed cheering up.

It had soon started.

Doc had realised by the second place – Was it his table with the lonely placemat and pile of homeopathy books knocked aside onto the floor? – what O’Malley was doing, why O’Malley had done something to him everywhere.

He couldn’t forget now. Doc couldn’t go anywhere, do anything, in his flat without remembering what O’Malley had done to him there.

It had been a different thing in each place too. O’Malley wasn’t sloppy enough to let it all blur together in Doc’s mind. Even if Doc couldn’t remember what order the places had been, he could remember everything they had done there.

There had been the beanbags; O’Malley hadn’t liked them much at all, complained that Doc didn’t even have the decency to have a proper sofa he could fuck him on, until he’d pushed the smaller man down over one half-accidentally and seen how awkward they could be to get off of. His purring stalker had pounced before Doc could struggle up and he only remembered lots of forced kisses, the bruising of his lips that throbbed tenderly even now whenever they brushed together. And the petting, the stroking down his entire body like the plaything he was seen as. Slightly trembling hands moving slowly over every private, delicate place, hands that Doc tried to discourage but that he couldn’t obviously force off even when he was crying with distress.

The beanbags were all out of shape now. The purple one was squished and lop-sided whilst the white one with red kanji all over it sprawled possessively across too much of the floor. Doc didn’t even know what the kanji meant but in the shop it had looked like it represented a pretty word to him.

Doc heard running water, snapping him from his contemplative gaze across the main room of his little studio flat.

There had been the shower; O’Malley had gotten him in with some sort of excuse about washing crayon off, or maybe cleanliness... It had been something Doc made a complaint about that inevitably ended up turned against him. Doc sometimes felt he should just stop doing or saying anything these days. Even though he had refused to show O’Malley how flexible his yoga had made him by bending over to touch his toes, Doc had still ended up on the end of a rough, wet penetration, his back pressed shivering against the wall with his limbs wrapped around the other man’s waist and back.

Washing together using his shower gel had made O’Malley smell like peaches; that just wasn’t any sort of right combination.

Currently, nothing besides Doc’s bedside table was in reach. That only had a small lamp, some tissues, his glasses and the contents of the little drawer- No, even his glasses had ended up on the floor thanks to today. A lot of things had ended up knocked onto the floor actually...

There had been the table; nails scratching, fingers pinching and a tongue tracing hot lines over the sensitive, delicate nape of his neck. Then he’d been flipped over onto his back, and with some sort of pastel crayon from wherever – Oh, that must have been before the shower – O’Malley had proceeded to illustrate every line, every incision he’d make to examine each of Doc’s organs, how he could open him up like a child’s game of _Operation_ with each little hole so he could take them out, play with them a while, and then place them back in, if he felt like it. Or the former surgeon said he could open each of Doc’s sides, slip a hand in and navigate them through all the organs to meet in the middle.

Doc didn’t remember if he had gotten any pleasure that time; the horrifically sickening images were enough to never forget.

Something opened and shut in the kitchen. It sounded like a biscuit tin.

There had been the kitchen counter; Doc had complained about hygiene and he’d gotten two fingers that had been Go- He mentally apologised to any offended deities, but the point was those fingers could have been anywhere on the way here and O’Malley hadn’t washed them first. The other hand had been between his legs, fingers forced in him there too as he squirmed about on them until he came.

Oh well. At least if he caught something from O’Malley’s fingers he’d have a legitimate excuse for missing a few days of work...

Although he couldn’t leave, perhaps he could get a message out somehow. Phones, his laptop and all kind of technology was out. Maybe he could post a message for help out under his front door and hope someone walked by who would take it seriously. _‘Help, I’ve been kidnapped and assaulted in my own home!’_ No... And he couldn’t even get to the door anyway...

There had been the entrance hall; Doc frankly couldn’t even remember how they’d gotten into that position. He had somehow ended up kneeling, just like every time he put on or removed his shoes, and every future time when he would remember O’Malley’s cock sliding in and out of his sore lips. No matter how rough he was, O’Malley knew he was ensured a safe blowjob the times he forced Doc’s mouth onto his cock until his toy gave; any sort of biting would have been violence after all. From whatever source of mercy, he didn’t tend to thrust too deep and make Doc gag, although he knew just how to push to the limits of discomfort and keep Doc there with his eyes watering and an inelegant dribble of saliva overflowing down his chin.

As Doc tilted his head again, his jaw still ached.

He had heard the bare, padding footsteps and was now looking at O’Malley for real once more. The escaped inmate was dressed in his bright orange jacket, completely unbuttoned, and only that. Doc wanted to, but was too tired to raise any sort of decency objections against a body he saw undressed far too often anyway.

O’Malley had his crooked grin wrapped around something edible; it was one of the cinnamon granola bars the therapist had baked, thinking he could bring them in as a morale incentive perhaps. It almost gave him hope again for some decent humanity in his obsessive psychopath- Actually, Doc was never too sure if that term was actually used in proper psychiatry now. It seemed a bit offensive anyway. He preferred to think of O’Malley as just... difficult, abnormally socialised, or something, if he could. But the fact that maybe he had a sweet tooth gave Doc the tiniest moment of hope.

The moment that O’Malley stopped eating, mouth instead curling with a slight smirk as he opened it to address Doc once again, brought the whole thing back into awful reality and sent Doc’s heart plummeting through the bed.

And there was the bed; finally. That had been the longest. O’Malley wanted him never to be able to sleep without remembering, and Doc felt frankly now he was going to get that wish.

He was pretty sure it had been the staring first. After O’Malley had gotten him down supine on the bed, the sadist had just sat astride his lap staring at Doc, into his face. The only moves O’Malley made were to keep his observational subject reasonably still and silent. Doc hadn’t been able to sit up, nor been allowed to say more than a short sentence at a time without being shushed. Doc had been able to look away though, and had spent much of the time doing just that; no matter where he was looking, O’Malley’s gaze was always waiting for him whenever he looked back out of curious exasperation. Normally he would try to maintain eye contact where possible during therapy with his patients, for sincerity, to show he was paying attention and hopefully to foster trust, or so he had read. Doc hadn’t realised it could be used so aggressively though. He had always thought eye contact was a nice thing, another hopeful myth O’Malley’s presence in his life had shredded.

Although he had asked a few times, Doc had no idea why he was being stared at for the twenty, thirty minutes O’Malley had kept him under scrutiny. He didn’t appear to be waiting for any particular words or actions; he didn’t seem to be appreciating Doc’s body in any sort of aesthetic way; nor did he give any explanation when the time suddenly ended, but Doc was pretty sure it hadn’t been a staring contest.

He thought that O’Malley looked like he was working on some problem deep in his very abnormally patterned mind. O’Malley had been considering something, whether it was an action, memory or feeling.

Whatever it was, it had ended with O’Malley lowering himself down to lie on Doc, beginning with a slow and rough kiss as he returned from his daze which quickly moved on to more standard biting of the neck and groping hands aplenty.

The whole thing was so different in a bed. At work, Doc found it easy to reason anything physical that happened between them as assault, but here, despite having put up the same insistent but non-aggressive resistance, he was more disgusted, more ashamed of himself because it felt like somehow he had permitted this, as if he had welcomed this, but he definitely didn’t want things like this.

Sometimes at night he’d think to himself. Sometimes he’d look at the complete lack of relationships in his life right now, aside from whatever kind of association he had with York and Wash. There were only a couple of neighbours and a distant family who he didn’t contact much and that seemed to like it that way. And he would realise the prisoners in Valhalla were all he really had most of the time. And of them, O’Malley was the one he had the deepest... connection with.

Not a good connection, but what they had was in his very skin now, was nearly always on the surface as bruises and unaffectionate love-bites.

Aside from a couple of the innocent, experimenting relationships you had in high school and college, ones that barely even got into medium-weight petting, this was the only physical relationship Doc had ever had.

O’Malley was the closest thing to a _lover_ he had ever had.

Doc felt his throat close with something hard, choking and just awful whenever that thought surfaced at night. The length of time it had been going, the amount of physical intimacy and the intensity of the emotions involved were not enough to substitute for the complete void of any love and caring here.

Even if, in a few weak and scattered moments of twisted hope, they came frighteningly close.

O’Malley’s next game in bed had involved matches. He must have grabbed the box Doc kept around for his scented candles – _“You just can’t meditate without good, relaxing air!”_

He hadn’t played long; maybe he had thought they would be more fun than the matches turned out to be. O’Malley had lit one hard enough for a spark to fly from the box’s side onto Doc’s skin. He winced slightly but was more concerned with watching where O’Malley took the fire over his skin, always keeping close enough for the heat to touch but not to burn. It was almost impressive he managed to keep that little distance, but maybe it was the reduced trembling of his hands; Doc was drowned under another wave of guilt and relief someone had finally accepted his incompetence there. There was a second in which he felt he deserved how he was being treated now. Then O’Malley had lit and held a second match up to his fringe, _“It would be a shame if I had to...”_ but he had thankfully decided he liked his toy better with hair and lowered the match slightly, hovering it just above Doc’s nose.

_“Do you ever imagine what it would be like to set someone’s eyelashes on fire, DuFresne? No, look who I’m talking to; of course you don’t. Watching them tear and scratch their own eyes out, the searing light of having your retinas on fire driving you insane as your eyeballs turn molten and leak out between your clawing fingers-”_

_“Stop! Stop please!”_

_“Then why haven’t you blown out the match, hm?”_

_..._

_“Can’t you even bear to kill a match, you pathetic fool?”_

O’Malley had blown out the match right in his face. Doc yelped and screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the burning pain after he had felt the flame lick his skin as it died. It never came; his eyelashes weren’t set alight, whether that was O’Malley’s calculation or just luck.

The blackened head of the match had caught O’Malley’s gaze then and before Doc realised why, he was crying out as the still hot tip traced over his skin, down his left arm.

O

M

A

The sensation began to fade on the L.

The rest of the letters were just a smoky tingle. Doc wasn’t sure whether the burns would last; in retrospect the match hadn’t been too hot, aside from the first letter, because O’Malley had studied it for a moment first. It was still stinging now as he lay on his left side to look, but not painfully much like the scar on his chest had for days.

After that, O’Malley had gotten handsy, frisky, or whatever you wanted to call it, under the pretence of physically comforting Doc for the pain he had just inflicted. Doc had tried to struggle free from the licking, the fingers pinching his nipple or the ones caressing his hip even after all that had already been done to him, but it was little more than a further reward for the cruelly playful inmate. He had actually asked for Doc to keep struggling like that.

Doc found himself getting hot and sensitive; somewhere along the line his body had naturally started responding to O’Malley’s like they were actually mates. His arousal began to rub against the hip on top of him and his writhing changed from some sort of half-hearted attempt to escape into a pitiful plea for satisfaction.

O’Malley hitched up one of Doc’s legs and began to press his own erection up and down along his toy’s ass. The hand not gripping Doc’s scalp came up to his lips, slowly stroking then pressing hard for entrance.

Doc whimpered slightly, twisting his head away as much as currently possible. “Mm! Wait, wait!” he mumbled out, trying not to give the fingers an entrance.

He seemed to have something specific in mind that wasn’t stopping, just delaying, and it intrigued O’Malley to see what this was going to be. He gave Doc the slight freedom to move over and reach out flailingly with one hand that bashed itself into the bedside table, “Ow!” before finding the handle and pulling the drawer there open. Lifting himself slightly with weak muscles, Doc felt around until he pulled out a small tube of something; hand moisturiser. “Here.” And he actually presented it towards the other.

O’Malley stopped, dropping Doc’s scalp to instead lean on that arm’s elbow and stare at the hopeful item. “...That would make things more comfortable for you; why on Earth would I use that?” He scornfully looked at Doc.

Doc frowned his best kicked-puppy face that he had been trying to practice off Caboose, not that it had any chance of working. “Why do you still have to hurt me whilst we do this?”

“Because I’m a sadistic psycho who gets off on the pain of others?” O’Malley dryly suggested the bleeding obvious.

“Yeah, but,” Doc said without any idea of a single word to say after that, “you’ll be getting off anyway; we’re having sex.”

O’Malley did raise an eyebrow at the easy acceptance, but continued with the rather amusing little diversion they were having. “Yes, but it would give me more pleasure that way.”

“Well, I could also do that by pressing on your prostate while we-” Uh-oh. “Okay! Sorry! Bad idea...” Doc quickly whimpered himself quiet again. He had only been trying to please his partner like a considerate lover- Wait, at what part in this had he lost his senses?

O’Malley sneered at even the suggestion. “We’ll be doing this the normal way.” His fingers returned to Doc’s lips.

Doc huffed on the fingers before sucking them half-heartedly, his suggestion of hand moisturiser set aside.

“What?” O’Malley asked. “Don’t tell me you’re bored after all of the exciting new ways I found to play with you earlier.”

“I’m not bored, I just-” He slightly winced as the fingers went in elsewhere, “just wondered why you do this, or like this.”

“Oh please! Don’t start psychoanalysing me now as well...” The one time, O’Malley grumbled to himself, he’d managed to get Doc without having to sit through the fool’s attempts at psychological deduction first...

“I’m just not sure anymore what particular thing it is that you keep coming back for...”

“Oh yes, a hard concept for someone with even _your_ level of psychological knowledge,” O’Malley scorned him; “Why would I want to keep doing something that I get a lot of pleasure from?”

Doc huffed. “That wasn’t what I- Oh never mind!” He certainly wasn’t aggressive, but he was a bit brusque now. “Let’s just get on and do it.”

Now O’Malley had to pause.

He continued to flex his fingers a little inside of Doc while he thought. He had been just about to remove them and begin, which perhaps it wasn’t all too surprising for his toy to sense after the years they had been doing this, but now he had an issue if Doc _wanted_ it.

That wasn’t right... Maybe it was just reluctant acceptance.

“What’s wrong? O’Malley?” Doc was asking. He was actually curious about the hold-up.

Cautiously, O’Malley removed his fingers and sat back on his knees, watching the other man still laid out naked underneath him.

Doc waited as well, his thighs brushing O’Malley’s legs as he struggled back against his pillow for more comfort. The pathetic therapist looked concerned, then he frowned. “The staring _again_? Seriously, what is it that you want? Just ask me, okay? I might normally be the one asking you questions, and I might have some reservations about giving out personal details to you- I mean, because you’re an inmate, a patient of mine! It’s not professional, and all that... I think? Is it...?” Doc had gone from disgruntled through scared and was now pondering. “Even if it isn’t professional, I guess it’s not like it really matters with you now... Maybe it would help people open up if I told them stories about my life first.” Doc seemed to be getting an idea, a bad one, in the more medically competent man’s mind, but those were so numerous and it was even less of an issue than normal now.

“Do you want me to stop?” O’Malley asked.

Doc stared, now half propped up on his elbows. “Do I want you to-? To stop what? Like, now, in bed, or in general?”

“Now.”

It made Doc shift uncomfortably when he couldn’t give an instant answer. His gaze averted down, looking over his own bared body, all the ravaging it had taken and the scar on his chest that still shot him through with a flutter of panic each time he realised how real it was in his skin. He glanced away before letting himself look at O’Malley knelt astride him, and Doc didn’t try to clarify the strange, ambivalent collection of emotions that came to mind when he did. “I-Is this a trick?” He thought, surely, that it had to- After all, Doc wanted to laugh, whatever he said it would end up with...

If he said yes, O’Malley would want to do it to distress him.

If he said no, was there a chance that maybe... the reversing went both ways?

He wasn’t getting any further indication or comment, and since he knew with certainty what one answer would give – Unless, gophers forbid, O’Malley was actually developing some sort of heart to store feelings for him in – Doc answered, “No,” with curiosity.

The same curiosity that had led O’Malley to ask it.

Nothing moved for a moment, but then O’Malley’s head did a rather inhuman tilt. He was like an computer in error, or some weird sort of automaton thing. “...You want me to continue?” he checked.

“I guess,” Doc said, and kind of shrugged.

O’Malley frowned, not entirely pleased with that answer perhaps. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just figured saying ‘yes’ wouldn’t work, and I don’t-” Doc halted as the words came from his brain that his mouth was going to say.

“Don’t _what_?” O’Malley began to lean in and grin again, but still mainly curious.

“Nothing?” Doc tried. No? “Don’t know?” he tried next.

“Answer me, DuFresne,” his predator purred, nails curling and digging into the soft flesh of Doc’s chest.

Doc eep-ed and squirmed slightly. He’d gotten into the habit of not struggling too much over time. “Don’t...” He would have to say it. “Don’t... mind. I don’t... mind...” He winced as the slightly ragged nails dug in again, “having sex with you... O’Malley...”

Chuckling condescendingly, now O’Malley changed to petting him. “Why, Doc, I think we’ve really made progress on our feelings today. Great work.” A bitter hint crept into the therapist’s lowered eyes, muted resentment swimming in shame, but Doc didn’t mutter anything petulantly like he sometimes did. Even if there had been a little hitch, O’Malley had still gotten his pleasure in the end, to force Doc to realise and say those words. The little extra work had even provided a very interesting titbit to chew over for next time.

Doc wasn’t sure if the sex that followed was a punishment or reward. Was it harder than usual to cause more pain or out of passion?

It had been followed by a sort of cuddling too. Whether that would have happened without the little reveal, Doc didn’t know, but it felt like it was half to stop him escaping the bed and maybe phoning someone anyway. He practiced his breathing and relaxed, all to try and ignore the rather sleepy sadist spooning him from behind. O’Malley had wanted to go twice and with the luxury of an actual bed, seemed to be enjoying faking a real relationship. Maybe it was teasing, more fun at the expense of what Doc had admitted earlier.

Doc sighed, breaking his measured breathing and shifted his hips forward a little, away.

O’Malley shifted his hips forward too so they were in the same position again, just curled up a little more. “I thought you said you didn’t mind...” he mumbled very sleepily against the back of Doc’s ear.

Doc tried to ignore the shivers he felt from the incredibly light pressure of O’Malley lips on the sensitive skin there. He had hoped the other man was asleep and would at least let him move away slightly, even if it couldn’t stop the feeling of what he had done when O’Malley’s semen was wetly crawling out of his ass. Doc shuddered and pulled a bit, but he was held tight. “I **do** mind! Kind of!” he insisted back petulantly. “At least, even if I don’t mind, that still doesn’t mean I like it!”

“Really...?” One of O’Malley’s hands traced the fingertips over Doc’s hip, up and across his stomach, all around the navel and then back. It was intimate, not lustful, and Doc felt his skin trying to scrunch up so it could squirm away from the touch.

He almost cried. “No...!” He was disgusted with himself when the horrid sensation of fake intimacy sent a hot jolt through into his crotch. “...What is this, O’Malley?” Doc asked pathetically, eyes tightly shut as if that could block out the feelings in his body.

There was an uncertain hum to clarify himself from behind.

Doc couldn’t though. He didn’t know whether he meant the position they were in right now or the positions their lives were in generally. “Why are you holding me like this? This... This isn’t...”

“What? Like me?” If he had been less tired, O’Malley might have sounded slightly affronted then. “Or this isn’t something I’m allowed to do with my toy? Because if that was the case, DuFresne,” The nails of both hands curled into Doc’s skin at his shoulder and hip, forcing out a hiss of pain, “I think I’d have to teach you the rules again.”

 _No, not again!_ “I-I meant why do you want to... s-spoon with me? I didn’t think this was what you wanted,” Doc clarified for him.

O’Malley tsk-ed him and patted his hip patronisingly. “You have no idea what I want, my little fool. If you did, you could actually be considered a halfway decent therapist after all.”

There he went again, insulting Doc’s skills at everything except being fucked... “I’m not certain _you_ have any idea what you want, O’Malley...” he muttered back with a teensy bit of allowed bitterness.

It earned him a curious, slightly raspy chuckle. “Oh, Doc... Now, that’s not true...” O’Malley held him closer, slipping the lower arm up Doc’s chest whilst the other contorted somehow to trace Doc’s exposed cheek. “I know that I want you.”

Doc whimpered.

“My, I didn’t think you had any other tricks, my little pet.” Back in the present moment, O’Malley was examining the granola bar thoughtfully and Doc’s heart was halfway through the living room of the nice old lady who lived below him in its freefall plummet. “You’re not a bad cook, astoundingly.”

“I like cooking...” Doc muttered in agreement, knowing he shouldn’t take his eyes away from O’Malley.

“That could be good,” O’Malley looked around the apartment a little disdainfully, appreciating some features though, “if I decide to stay.”

Stay? Well, it didn’t matter. O’Malley had already been around the place like a cat earlier during their playtime, in the way a cat rubs itself on everything to mark it as its own. No one else would know, but Doc would.

“I’m not allowed roommates,” Doc stated pointlessly, knowing rules couldn’t be hidden behind here. “I am allowed pets,” He slightly scowled at the other man, continuing quickly before O’Malley’s surprise turned ugly, “so why don’t you get me a collar and leash? A nice purple one with a little bell on it.” Huffing, Doc put his head back down on his pillow. “It’s not like I’ll catch anything anyway, but it’ll make me easier to hunt...”

O’Malley actually laughed this time, a proper, unhinged fit of giggles. It seemed spending enough time with Doc had completely worn away what little dignity his toy scraped back together each time he left. “Oh, Doc!” He sauntered over, finishing his snack before sitting on the side of the bed. Slightly apprehensive eyes turned back to look up at him as a hand stroked roughly through their hair. “Why, sometimes I think I love you,” O’Malley said, grinning down at Doc.

“You do _not_ love me!” Doc tried to insist against the ludicrous allegation.

O’Malley scowled, tugging a bit harder on his toy’s hair. “DuFresne, who else do you think is ever going to love you now, hm?” Well, he was right. Even if Doc did miraculously find someone, they would see what O’Malley had done to him, if O’Malley even let them get that far. “This is all you’re going to have in your life until the day you die, so I suggest you had better start thinking of it as love if you want any at all.”

His part said, O’Malley leant down and kissed Doc on the lips. It was slightly less brutal than usual.

Doc forced himself to think it was love.


End file.
